Classical
Longing for Love
On my long, plodding way down (in my nurse’s arms), I took notice of the many dark paintings on the walls. They were all much bigger than I--some ten feet by five, some made up of layered bush strokes that seemed unconnected (I learned the term impressionistic later), light-hearted and colorful--but the majority seemed fit for dungeons--with iron bars, moldy castles, surrounded by the turbulent waters of the sea, often with an erie creature decked in a white gown, poking its pale face out a gothic window. They were altogether revolting pictures to me. I have never learned since to like them.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Child
It was a twelve year old slump-shouldered youth who crawled over the rusty gate to the farmhouse. By his cautious demeanor and furtive glance, one would have guessed he were a trespasser come to perhaps steal a few scrawny chickens—but he was no thief. The house was his own…or at least, he lived there.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
KRISHNA JANMASTAMI
Krishna Janmashtami is simply known as Janmashtami or Gokulashtami. It is a Hindu festival that celebrates the birth of Lord Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu. It is observed according to the Hindu lunisolar calendar, on the eighth day of the Krishna Paksha (dark fortnight) in Bhadrapada, which overlaps with August or September of the Gregorian calendar.
By Nira Kumari4 years ago in Fiction
You Say Orpah
Start typing should be the directive; or something. Anyway here I am at work as usual with no specific goal other than perhaps to crank out six hundred words of some type of garbage being as how I won't be paid to do it. As is becoming the norm my monthly check is in jeopardy. I sure am glad that it doesn't have anything with being half Jewish ancestrally in the Deep Southern United States. Maybe I'm lucky not to live in the Shallower South wherever that would be. Even better and more fortuitous I am nowhere near the Northeastern portion of the country, I tell myself. Actually I resent being here, always have, always will. Either that or not so much.
By P. B. Friedman4 years ago in Fiction
A Partridge for Your Thoughts
Christmas was her favorite time of year. The soft delicate flakes of white swirling in crisp air. The promise of icicles and skating. The smell of cookies and pies wafting from underneath the freshly rising rolls of the bakeries. Peppermint in the shape of canes brought a smile to her delicate thirteen year old lips; a whisper of tastes to develop with the passing of holidays. Winter was her season, in the season of her arrival.
By Katharine Poole 4 years ago in Fiction
the pear
In a field on a quiet hill far away from the busy world, a pear swayed gently in the summer breeze. It was another lazy and glorious day. The pear basked in the warmth of the sun along with their siblings, safe amongst their mother’s leaves. The pear was comfortable in the tree and did not want to leave.
By Jacob Morrow4 years ago in Fiction
The Golden Pear
In the beginning of a world like ours, a pear tree sprouted. From its branches grew once a new moon, a golden pear. The inhabitants who lived in this world journeyed to the pear tree for the chance of biting into this golden pear. For taste was not what drew them, it was the power they received and the magical gifts granted.
By Britt Blomster 4 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Part Six
What else could happen to me with this frozen pond and Leroy? I know that I am secretly in love with Leroy, but I honestly don’t know how to tell him these things without him thinking that I am crazy or something. We both already have a long history of being best friends, but he doesn’t know the have of all the pain I have encountered over the years. I don’t even know if he would understand, and the real question is, would he still see me the same, or does he see something that I don’t? Oh, well, only time will tell for now.
By Theresa Evans4 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Five
“You are right, Leroy. We will talk about work first, but this conversation isn’t over by a long shot. You can’t come up to me and confess your love for me like this, knowing that we have a dangerous job to do. What are you even thinking about?” Tazi asked.
By Theresa Evans4 years ago in Fiction
4. Timing is Everything.
As the weeks went by William, or as he now felt comfortable responding to, Phileas, took to his role as cook quite well. He had never really cooked before and had only helped his mother in the difficult months after his father’s death. He never allowed himself to like his crew mates, despite their obvious warming to him. In his mind they liked Phileas, in his heart he would always be William and never forget, or forgive, his mother’s murder. But he found it hard. The crew looked after him well and were keen to teach him their trade.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
2. Going Under
William had found it hard but had adjusted to life in the cold of the small coastal village, through this was nothing to the cold of his exceptionally distant grandfather. His matter of fact directness lacked warmth and no matter what he tried, nothing could crack the old man’s resolution. He never smiled, passed on a positive word or offered any kind of friendly acknowledgement. William’s mother explained that it wasn’t his fault, he was always like that. He felt comfortable with the distance. It didn’t stop the boy trying.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
